


the art of breathing

by snallura



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Dissociation, M/M, nothing too graphic but a panic attack is described in a metaphor about drowning, onto a different character this time!, this is how i think of my anxiety and my dissociation, this is. me projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 23:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21127184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snallura/pseuds/snallura
Summary: sometimes. jack floats.





	the art of breathing

sometimes. jack floats. 

its interesting. a strange, muffled existence. he looks at the dishes in the sink. or at the messy unmade bed. or at the clothes to be folded. and he feels nothing. 

he’s detached. floating aimlessly through his apartment. he misses a call here. leaves a text on read there. 

there are chores to be done and calls to be made and emails to be read and he cant bring himself to do it. 

hes not content with sitting and staring out the window. but its all he seems to have the energy for right now. 

sometimes. jack floats. jack hates to float. 

sometimes. jack sinks. and sinks. he doesnt know which he hates more. 

when he sinks, he tries to swim up. he tries so hard to break through the surface of the lake in his head, but it freezes over. he watches from below the ice as real-jack (alive-jack) flies across the ice. 

then, the water fills up his lungs and he can’t breathe. so he sinks. he chokes and he feels the pressure in his skull and he sinks to the bottom. 

he sits there among the skeletons he’s buried and decomposes. 

at least he’s doing something. decomposing is something. floating is not. people dont always come to rescue him. sometimes he has to save himself. 

he has to put his skin back on and swim to the top and punch at the ice until it cracks-breaks under his hands. he pulls himself out of the frozen water and wills it to be springtime. 

slowly, the ice melts away. and a small island appears. he swims to the island. 

when he floats, he has to try harder to save himself. there is no ice to break. no island in sight. just him and the incredible weight of his own body. 

so he swims. 

sometimes aimlessly. 

he swims. he calls bitty. listens to bitty talk. laughs at his jokes because they’re funny, not because he’s running on autopilot. 

he swims. he hangs up. walks to the kitchen. washes a cup. then a fork. then a bowl. then all the dishes are clean. they’re still out on the counter, but putting them away is a much easier task then cleaning. 

he swims. he makes his bed. fluffs the pillows. puts some drops of lavender oil on them because his mom got it for him in an effort to help him sleep. it works because she said it would, not because it actually does. jack supposes moms have fun powers like that. 

he swims. he reads an email. 

he swims. he calls george. 

he swims. he finishes the scarf he made for marty’s boy. (its blue). 

he swims. he finds an island. calls his mom. 

when the water freezes over, jack is on the surface. not below it. 

jack is alive. jack breathes. 

he floats. 

he is alive. 

he sinks. 

he breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is how i see and deal with my mental health. shoutout to sara my lovely friend for reading this before i post it. if you want to follow me on tumblr - go ahead! its @/snallura! 
> 
> thank u for reading :))


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